


don't count your chickens before they hatch

by coupe_de_foudre



Category: Justified, World War Z (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Crossover, Fluff, M/M, a purely self-indulgent ship, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:55:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25954828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coupe_de_foudre/pseuds/coupe_de_foudre
Summary: At this point, Tim was unsure whether he'd ever meet his soulmate. He knows he’s only 19 and his mother would take none of his pessimistic behaviour but the words inked on his wrist was the most ridiculous sentence he's ever heard. Frankly, he’s not sure he wants to meet his soulmate.
Relationships: Captain Speke/Tim Gutterson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 10





	don't count your chickens before they hatch

**Author's Note:**

> This is a purely self-indulgent ship, okay? But I watched World War Z and the fact that Speke is an Army Ranger immediately made me think up an au where Tim serves under his command and...well, here we are.
> 
> Hopefully someone else will enjoy this and I won't be sailing this thing alone xD

His mother had said it was simple. You meet them just like you meet anybody else only you feel a gravitational pull towards them and only them. You'll just _know_ and that’s that. She’d met her soulmate when she was 17 though, so of course it was easy for her. The fact that he was a total dick hadn't changed anything for her.

Tim sometimes wonders what she would have made of him joining the Army. Would she be proud? He hopes so.

Everyone had a soulmate. It was an unquestioned law of the universe. There was always going to be another soul out there practically designed to fit alongside yours, like two puzzle pieces. Whether or not you chose to stay around your soulmate was entirely up to you.

Either way, nobody was alone.

Tim felt very alone right now, though. Which was absurd, considering he’s stood in the mess hall surrounded by guys – most of which he’d like to think were his friends, even if they’ve only known each other a week. There’s a certain sense of familiarity that you gain only from being part of something like the Army, something much bigger than yourself yet simultaneously limited to a few people that you were to trust with your life.

“Yeah, well, that’s what he said.” Mark insisted, but he didn’t look convinced. Tim hadn’t really been paying much attention, not since am unfamiliar face had strolled into the hall with an air of importance. 

His beard was trimmed neatly, hair hidden underneath a cap that he wore backwards. He smiled softly at one of the men as he passed by, clapping another on the shoulder. “Alright, Captain?” Someone called out, and the guy sent a mock salute in the direction of the voice.

Huh...Tim definitely wouldn’t have thought he was a captain. He didn’t have that same uptight, above-all-others attitude about him that all the other officers seemed to have.

“What do you think I should do?” Mark asked, nudging him in the ribs to get his attention. Tim frowned, dragging his eyes away from the man and back to his friend. Mark was his closest friend here; they’d met back in training and had stuck close together from day one. He had a habit of causing trouble without trying but he was also severely loyal, Tim could already tell that about him.

There’d been a moment of time where he'd wished Mark was his soulmate. Unfortunately, their words didn’t match.

At this point, Tim was unsure whether he'd _ever_ meet his soulmate. He knows he’s only 19 and his mother would take none of his pessimistic behaviour – she’d probably tut at him, ruffle his hair and assure him that his other half would show up eventually - but the words inked on his wrist was the most ridiculous sentence he's ever heard. Frankly, he’s not sure he _wants_ to meet his soulmate.

“Tim!” Mark cries, hitting him harder this time, “Christ you’re hopeless.”

“Sorry,” Tim smiles sheepishly, thumb tracing the words on his wrist absent-mindedly, “What did he say again?”

Mark rolled his eyes, pointing his forkful of food at him. “He said he was certain I should be patrolling the west side.” He shoved his gross combination of mash and beans into his mouth, not bothering to swallow before continuing, “But I’m pretty sure I was put on east.”

Tim shrugged, pushing his own food around and not actually taking a bite. “If you’re not sure you should double check with someone else. Don’t rely on Cobber, he doesn’t know shit half the time.” 

A hand lands heavily on his shoulder, jolting him enough to drop his fork with a loud clatter. Mark raises his brow, glancing up at whoever was now standing behind Tim. 

“Don’t count your chickens before they hatch.” a deep voice said, matter-of-factly. Tim scowled.

Swivelling on his seat, a string of curses already forming on his tongue, he almost fell off when he saw the unnamed captain smiling down at him. He froze. Any conceivable thought escaped him as his mouth dropped open. “What?”

The guy's smile morphed into a knowing smirk, his hand squeezing his shoulder gently as he directed his gaze back to Mark. “Do not rely on something you are not sure of.”

“Oh,” Mark laughed, nodding, “Right, yeah. Guess I’ll double check then. Thanks, sir.” 

“Speke.” he clarifies, gesturing at the name on his uniform. “Any time. Can't have you boys wandering around the wrong area.” He nods at them both, lifting his hand from Tim as he makes to move away. 

That’s when it hits Tim. What ‘it’ is, he isn’t entirely sure. All he knows is he suddenly feels empty without the man's touch and he’s standing before he can properly register his own actions. 

His wrist is burning. 

His heart is pounding.

“What did you say?” he's asking, hand reaching out to wrap his fingers around the other man’s wrist before he can stop and actually think about what he’s doing. Speke turns around, brows furrowed together but a smile playing on his lips. His eyes are wide, comforting and warm rather than strict and cold like so many other men here. “The phrase- what you... the first thing you said.”

He knows he’s making a scene, can feel the guys around them watching in interest, previously loud conversations now hushed whispers. He swallows, feeling an unwelcome lump in his throat. 

“Don’t count your chickens before they hatch?” Speke repeats, slowly this time, sending Tim a questioning gaze. He must think he’s mental.

Tim couldn’t care less. “Fuck...”

“Son,” Speke places his hand back on Tim’s shoulder, thumb running over the slither of exposed skin by the base of his neck. It’s a fleeting touch but it calms Tim instantly. This can’t be wishful thinking. It just _can’t_ be. “Are you alright?”

“I-” He closes his eyes, desperately trying to ignore the watchful gaze of the men around them. “I- shit.”

Speke's face softens and he grabs Tim by the arms and begins to lead him out of the hall. Tim is in no position to argue against this decision and so just allows himself to be guided outside, pulled away from the doorway so that they don’t get in anybody’s way. Once they stop, the brisk air of late September helping to cool Tim's unnecessarily hot skin, Speke crowds into his space just enough to ensure Tim's eyes stay on him.

“You alright?” he asks again, the lack of distracting sounds now allowing Tim to notice the slight southern twang in his voice.

Tim nods. “Sorry, it’s just you... fuck, how do I say this?”

Speke is starting to look more concerned the longer Tim talks but he can’t, for the life of him, find the words to say. 

Maybe it’s his mother’s voice in the back of his head reassuring him that there will be someone in the world that will love him unconditionally that enables him to move. Suddenly, the distance between them is almost non-existent, gone with one shaky step forward as he leans in. Their breaths mingle for a moment, the harsh brush of the man’s beard against his chin a grounding realisation of what he’s about to do. He hesitates, allowing Speke the chance to step away, to stop him now before it’s too late, but Speke seems to be lost in his thoughts. Tim doesn’t think as he erases the last of the distance between them, his lips crashing against Speke's in a bruising kiss that takes his breath away. 

Speke gasps into his mouth, unresponsive for only a second before he’s kissing back, his hands gaining a solid grasp on Tim's shoulders as his fingers twist into the material of his shirt. The intensity is unlike anything Tim’s ever experienced, his knees buckling under him as he reaches out for some sort of support – his hands falling on the man’s hips. He feels like he’s drowning, losing himself in the feeling of lips pressed to his, gasping for breath with every uncoordinated swipe of his tongue, every graze of teeth over his lip, every itch of hair on his face. It feels like drowning and being reborn all at once and Tim never wants it to end.

It has to, eventually. Of course it does. Speke pulling away but resting his forehead on Tim's with a weak chuckle. Tim can almost hear his mind ticking with questions.

“Don't count your chickens before they hatch.” He whispers, hoarsely, hand moving to lift Speke's wrist between them. 

“Yeah, I think we established that.” Speke frowns, but he's smiling. Tim shakes his head at the man, matching his smile with one of his own, fingers carefully pushing away the man’s sleeve to find one singular word inked in an untidy scrawl. _‘What?’_

He laughs, relief flooding through him, smoothing the pad of his thumb over the word. 

“Oh,” Speke says, eyes widening as he looks at Tim. “ _Oh_.” 

Tim nods. He goes to show Speke his own mark but he’s stopped by a rough press of lips. He melts into the man, lips parting just enough for Speke to slip his tongue past as he cups Tim's face in an unbearably soft embrace. He sighs into the man's mouth.

They continue their zealous pace and Tim feels like he could burst into laughter at any moment now, if he weren't so uninterested in pulling away. Speke’s hands dig into his hair, holding him close, keeping him safe, a thought that causes a desperate whine to escape his throat that’s quickly swallowed by the lips still on his. He slows the kiss, taking all he can whilst leaving more to be desired. There’s no rush. They have the rest of their lives.

He gives Speke one last kiss before pulling back, smiling as the man grips him tighter for a moment until he drops his arms to his side. 

“So...” Speke chuckles. Tim can’t help but smile at his awkwardness. “I’m James, by the way.”

“Tim.” 

Speke smiles, a full-blown, ear-to-ear, face-splitting smile. “Nice to meet you, Tim.”

Tim laughs, “Likewise.” He gestures back towards the mess hall. “Should we?”

James quirks an eyebrow, brushing the backs of his knuckles lightly over Tim's cheekbone. “I was thinking maybe we head back to my quarters?” He suggests, “We should probably talk.”

Tim smirks, tilting his head as he runs his eyes over the man in front of him. He really lucked out, didn’t he? “Talk, yeah.” James hits him with a weighted look, smile crooked as he leads Tim away from the mess hall and begins rambling about the papers they’re probably going to need to sign. Tim isn’t really listening; he’s busy thanking whatever higher being that might exist for finally having mercy on him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!!
> 
> Feel free to come rant about this pairing with me on [tumblr](https://a-beautiful-struggle-of-life.tumblr.com/)!!
> 
> Any kudos/comments are hella appreciated! <3


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